


Space Jewish: A SERIES OF Chanukah AU's

by performativezippers



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: A chanukah AU, Alternate Universe, Chanukah, College AU, Coworkers to lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Is what I'm saying, Jewish Alex Danvers, Neighbors AU, Secret Santa AU, gift exchange AU, happy chanukah dearest erin, if they don't kill each other first, jewish danvers sisters, just another universe in which sanvers are endgame, living her best life, maggie is the best RA, oh hey i need to borrow that AU, stakeout AU, tropes on tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21864691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/performativezippers/pseuds/performativezippers
Summary: Four Chanukah Sanvers AUs
Relationships: Alex Danvers/Maggie Sawyer
Comments: 159
Kudos: 372
Collections: Secret Sanvers | A Sanvers Winter Holiday 2019 Event





	1. Coworkers to Lovers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ironicpotential](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironicpotential/gifts).



> Happiest, most wonderful, most perfect Chanukah to the wonderful ironicpotential. May your candles stick well to the menorah and your latkes be crispy.
> 
> p.s. you asked for established sanvers but instead i...did this. how do you say "whoopsies" in yiddish?

**Warehouse Delta Three Stakeout: Day 4**

Agent Danvers is a bitch. Maggie suspected that before this ridiculous stakeout, of course, but there’s something about being stuck in a shitty motel room with her for four straight days that has confirmed it beyond a shadow of a doubt. Agent Danvers is a frigid, egotistical, aggressive, combative, annoying as fuck, total bitch of a human being.

Their first meeting on the tarmac had really set the stage for their entire working relationship. Agent Danvers had insulted her, lied to her ( _secret service my ass_ , Maggie had thought, even then), and taken ownership of a crime scene that she had no right being on. She’d stolen the investigation from Maggie, using phony credentials and bullshit excuses. Maggie had been fuming.

And then, after Maggie figured out she was DEO, Maggie’d demanded her investigation back. “You’re not Secret Service,” she’d said, hoping Agent Danvers would be reasonable. “So you don’t have any jurisdictional claim to the case.”

But Agent Danvers had just had the gall to laugh. “Dream on, Officer,” she’d sniped. “Why don’t you go back to little league and leave the real crimes to the professionals, okay?”

Maggie hadn’t liked her before that, but she hated her after it.

And then, of course, Maggie’d asked around at the bar. The DEO isn’t just anti-alien like she’d thought; no, they’re _virulently_ anti-alien, bordering on genocidal. Disappearances, murders, abductions. Black ops teams descending on innocent families in the dead of night. No due process, no public outcry. No public list of agents or duties or mission. Even their budget is eyes-only. The definition of an off the books, black-ops, top secret, government sanctioned genocidal murder squad.

And, from the looks of it, Agent Danvers is pretty high up in it. Tossing around that fake ID, access to all kinds of shit that she shouldn’t, ordering other lackeys around.

The DEO is bad news, and she’s up towards the top.

So, Maggie muses, halfway down her second bag of potato chips of the day, her feet up on the shitty card table wedged into the corner of this motel room, her eyes narrowed in the general direction of the asshole in question, Agent Danvers isn’t just a bitch. She’s a mass murderer, happily earning her cushy living by committing crimes against…well, not _humanity_ , but…you know.

Committing genocide.

And they’ve been stuck inside this fucking motel room for four days now, and Maggie’s ready to stab her “partner” in the eyeball.

***********

“No sign of the hostile,” Agent Danvers reports, dropping the binoculars down on the table, her voice crisp and precise.

Maggie rolls her eyes. “Jesus Christ, Danvers, this isn’t the fucking military. It’s day four. You can just say, ‘tag, you’re it, snake lady continues to not be in this fucking warehouse, like we already knew four fucking days ago.’”

Agent Danvers looks like she’s considering drop kicking Maggie into the sun. “The concept may be unfamiliar to you, but I follow orders,” she snaps. “So until my director reassigns me, I’ll be doing my job to the best of my abilities. Unlike you. Or, well…” She pointedly runs her eyes over Maggie’s feet, up on the table again, taking in the iPad game she’s been playing for hours, and the chip crumbs all over shirt. “At least I _hope_ this isn’t the best of your abilities.”

Maggie just scoffs at her, letting it roll off her back. “I try to save the good stuff for the real missions,” she says, airily swiping to another game. “You’ve probably never seen one, though, so I understand why this must be exciting for you.” She arches an eyebrow, just the way she knows makes Agent Danvers spit fire. She’s bored, and fighting will at least be fun. “Going after a human being, with rights and resources and the knowledge you’re coming…that must be so different for you. No wonder you’re all horny for your binoculars.”

Agent Danvers, as Maggie hoped, rises to the occasion, her chest swelling with indignation and irritation.

Like every day in this fucking hellhole, Maggie tries not to notice how scarily beautiful she is when she’s mad.

They fight for a good hour – Maggie making sure to insult Agent Danvers’ lack of morals, while Agent Danvers hits hard on Maggie’s low IQ, laughable budget, and terrible training – until an alert comes in that their dinner is on its way.

Familiar with the routine by this point, they grudgingly come to a wordless truce, eating their pizza in stony silence. Agent Danvers snatches up the surveillance equipment and keeps tabs on the warehouse while Maggie stares blankly at whatever football game is on.

This assignment blows. Agent Danvers is the worst.

***********

**Warehouse Delta Three Stakeout: Day 5**

Maggie’s at the surveillance table, which is really just the shitty ikea desk that comes in the motel room, clicking aimlessly through the camera feeds. There’s really no fucking reason for them to be here. The whole place is wired for video, and she’s sure Roulette isn’t going to set foot in National City for months. It’s a bust, and Maggie misses her apartment with an ache in her chest that’s growing every day. She misses her plants, and her kitchen, and cooking actual vegetables, and her own fucking life.

And, of course, she misses not being near Dr. Death, with her horrible attitude, positively psychotic motel room workout regimen, and perfectly sculpted abs. Fucking bitch.

Said Dr. Death is currently sleeping, because it’s only seven in the morning and she was up until three on her shift. She takes the shifts so seriously, and it’s just ridiculous. Every other stakeout Maggie’s done has been casual: two or three cops snacking and shooting the shit, mainlining coffee and sugar until something happened or they got pulled.

Agent Danvers is playing this like it’s the most rigid, precise, carefully planned operation in the world. She’s stupid. It’s stupid.

Maggie likes it best when Agent Danvers is sleeping. It’s the only time she isn’t talking back, or otherwise pissing Maggie off. She looks sort of cute in her sleep. Younger. Less harsh. Like maybe she could be someone Maggie would like.

It’s all a lie, of course, but the lie is better than the truth.

But because nothing good ever lasts, the lie is shattered. Agent Danvers’ bat phone rings, shrill against her cheap bedside table. She shoots her hand out, answering it with reflexes that would be impressive on an awake person. _Fucking ninja murderer_.

“Danvers,” she grunts into the phone, and then immediately softens.

Maggie blinks, unable to stop staring. Suddenly Agent Danvers looks different. Kind, friendly, almost warm. Welcoming. Loving, even.

“Hey, Kara,” she says, and she’s actually smiling as she pulls herself up into a seated position, and Maggie isn’t sure she’s ever seen her smile before.

It’s…fuck. Very pretty.

Whoever Agent Danvers is talking to – it seems impossible, but it sounds like Dr. Death…likes them. She’s smiling, her whole body still soft and warm, like she wants to be hugging the person. She’s the fucking hearteyes emoji, which Maggie can’t possibly figure out because usually she’s the knife one, or maybe the demon.

She’s sitting up in bed now, tucking her knees up to her chest with the covers over them. She’s talking quietly but it’s a fucking one-room motel room and Maggie’s about six feet away, so she can hear everything.

At first it seems like the other person – Kara, she thinks Danvers had said – is doing most of the talking, and Agent Danvers is just making affirming sounds. But then she starts answering what must be questions coming through the other side. “No,” she says softly, “No sign of her yet, but we’re still looking.” A pause. “Yeah. It’s, yeah. Definitely longer than I’d hoped.” She sighs a little. “Yeah. It’s day five, and J’onn said we’ll reevaluate after a week if we haven’t seen her.”

Maggie blinks. That’s news to her. And who exactly is she talking to that knows this much? Maggie had assumed a girlfriend, maybe, because even though the dominant vibes Danvers gives off are ‘ _I know seven very painful ways to kill you with my index finger_ ,’ underneath that, she definitely seems like someone who knows seven very pleasurable ways to kill a lady with her index finger.

Maybe her girlfriend is DEO too? That would explain a few things, because Danvers really doesn’t seem like the type to break protocol and start spilling black-ops secrets as pillow talk. She’s strangely by-the-books for someone whose whole life is off-the-books.

But then Danvers almost laughs – laughs! – and asks Kara “if you’ve talked to Mom lately,” and Maggie quickly revises. Must be a sibling, then? Does the DEO recruit siblings? Like the mob?

It’s all very confusing, but then Dr. Death’s voice gets a little softer and a lot sadder. “I know,” she almost whispers. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sad to miss it.” She listens for a beat, and seems to sink into her pillows, like she’s shrinking back from whatever she’s hearing. “I know, Kara. I know. It’s important to me too; you _know_ it is.” She’s swallowing hard, and Maggie looks away, suddenly feeling very intrusive.

Agent Danvers is curled up in her bed, shitty comforter pulled up to her chin, and she’s almost crying into the phone. Her voice is cracking and she’s breathing a little hot and fast, and Maggie wants to disappear into the stained carpet. This is…this is really personal. She didn’t think Danvers had it in her, and, honestly, she sort of wishes she didn’t.

It’s nice to know she isn’t all teeth, but it’s…quite awkward.

“I know,” Danvers says again. “Maybe when I’m out of here I can come over and we can have a do-over…Yeah, I know. It won’t be the same, but…yeah. Oh, okay. Well, tell them I say hi. Yeah.” Her tone is changing, like Kara’s about to hang up on her. “Right, okay. Um, I love you, Kara. Stay safe, okay?” Then she says something that sounds a little like clearing her throat, maybe _hog sam-ay-ak_.

Maggie assumes it’s DEO code. Danvers hangs up, and Maggie expects her to snap back into Dr. Death, to drop and start doing pushups or to bark at Maggie for not using the binoculars properly. But instead she stays sort of human.

She drops her head into her hands and Maggie hears her blowing out a huge breath, like she’s trying not to cry.

And it’s so quiet that Maggie could easily have not heard it, but she does. It’s soft and muffled and so hurt that Maggie – who, for the record, fucking hates Agent Danvers – feels her heart clench.

“Fuck.”

***********

They don’t talk about it until lunch. They’re eating greasy burgers, delivered, as usual, surreptitiously to their door. They haven’t left this room in five days and Maggie is absolutely going stir crazy.

She’s monitoring the feeds until her alarm goes off at 1:15pm. She wordlessly hands the binoculars over to Agent Danvers. “Tag,” she says blankly. “You’re it.”

Danvers, for the first time, gestures for her to just drop them on the table between them. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” Maggie confirms.

And she wants to add something like “fucking obviously,” but this time, for the first time, Danvers beats her to it. Danvers, who has never said anything to indicate that she doesn’t love and find great value in this mission.

Maggie says “nothing,” and Danvers rolls her eyes, finally _with_ Maggie instead of _at_ Maggie. “God,” Danvers says. “This fucking blows. She’s obviously not here.”

Maggie slowly picks her jaw up off the floor, but Danvers misinterprets her impressed silence for disbelief. “Come on, Maggie.” It’s the first time she’s said Maggie’s first name out loud. “It’s obvious that Roulette got spooked when we went after the guy with the arm spikes. I’d bet this burger that she’s been out of National City since then, and I’d bet Supergirl’s cape that she’s left the country.”

Maggie, shell-shocked, simply holds up her paper cup of lukewarm tap water from the bathroom sink. “Welcome to reality, Agent Danvers,” she says, and can’t help that she’s smiling a little bit. “Nice to have you.”

Agent Danvers rolls her eyes – this time _at_ Maggie again – but she clinks Maggie’s cup with her own.

***********

Agent Danvers continues to be sadder for the rest of the day and into the evening than Maggie’s used to. No longer clipped and professional, she’s replaced diligence with lethargy, and she’s spending more time braiding and unbraiding the aux cords than foaming at the mouth for surveillance shift schedule reassignments.

She even flips to HGTV and offers a quiet running commentary on how stupid all the homebuyers are, and how house flipping is accelerating gentrification, and how no one wants faux-wood laminate floors anyway.

Maggie finds herself swallowing down her laughter more often than she’s expected, and once she accidentally chokes on it and snorts out loud.

Agent Danvers throws a pretzel at her head, calling her “Gross,” and Maggie fishes it out of her hair with a grin.

_This is more like it_ , she thinks, happily popping it into her mouth.

***********

**Warehouse Delta Three Stakeout: Day 6**

Day six continues much like Day 5. Danvers isn’t obsessed with the mission anymore, and it turns out that she’s just as sarcastic and snarky as Maggie is on her best days.

Maggie finds herself having to actively remember that Danvers is a genocidal maniac, because now she actually _likes_ her. It’s very confusing.

Around three in the afternoon, there’s a knock on their door. Their dinner isn’t supposed to come until after six, so they both bolt up into readiness. Maggie snatches her gun from the nightstand, and by the time she turns around, Danvers has covered their surveillance equipment with a sheet, has a gun tucked into the back of her waistband, and is checking the knife apparently strapped to her ankle.

“There’s another gun behind the toilet,” she whispers to Maggie, moving towards the door, “A box of weapons under my bed, and a tactical knife next to the microwave.”

Maggie’s eyebrows fly up, impressed. Danvers is legit terrifying.

Danvers counts down from three on her fingers, and then opens the door, one hand reaching behind her to touch her gun. But there’s no one there; just a brown paper bag on the ground right in front of her. She carefully checks the hallway, then squats down over the package.

“Cover me,” she mutters, and Maggie sort of can’t believe Danvers trusts her to do that, but she slides up easily, her gun ready in her hand. She peers over Danvers’s body, checking up and down the hallway for any sign of movement.

There’s nothing, and after a long moment, Danvers speaks up, her voice a little strangled. “It’s clear,” she manages. “Stand down.”

Maggie backs up, slipping her gun into the back of jeans and easing back into the hotel room. Danvers picks up the bag and brings it inside, closing the door with her foot.

“What’s the package?” Maggie asks, assuming it’s new equipment from the DEO. Maybe a new hard drive. Theirs must be getting full.

But Danvers just shakes her head. “Not a package.”

Maggie blinks. She’s literally holding it. Is she really going to pretend like that didn’t just happen? “Seriously, Danvers? You’re really gonna block me out? Again?” She turns away, waving a dismissive hand. “I thought you’d changed, but I guess you black ops feds are all the same, huh? Randy for secrets?”

But a hand on her arm stops her. Danvers has reached out and taken her arm, spinning her gently back around. “No, Maggie. Sorry, that’s not what I meant.”

Maggie tilts her head, judgmental and pissed off but willing to listen for five more seconds.

“I meant…I meant it’s not a package in the tactical term. It’s not for the mission.” She seems to be searching for a second, unsure how to say it. “It’s…it’s a personal delivery. For me.”

She says that like it’s going to make it better, but oh, it’s so much worse. “Ex _cuse_ me?” Maggie’s eyes are bugging out of her head now. “Miss By The Books, forcing us to never go outside for fresh air, never able to see the fucking sunlight, or go home, or go for a fucking walk around the block, Miss The Integrity of the Mission Has to Come First, running this room from your stuck up rule book, refusing to cooperate with me? And now you’re telling me that you gave our fucking address to someone so you could get, what? A romance novel and some tampons? What the _fuck_ , Danvers. I knew you were fucked, but that’s a whole fucking…Jesus.”

But Danvers’ chest doesn’t inflate. She doesn’t fight back, spitting fire like Maggie had expected. Instead she just shakes her head a little, pulling a couple things out of the bag and setting them on the card table, on top of one of the hard drives.

It’s a little candelabra and some candles and a box of matches.

“Good guess,” Danvers says dryly, “But I’m not really the romance novel type.”

Maggie feels her anger draining out, replaced by confusion.

Danvers seems to take pity on her. “The delivery is from Supergirl.” Her voice is sad again, soft and wistful like when she was on the phone with Kara. “She already knew our location, you’ll remember, in case we needed extraction.”

Maggie nods, throat dry. She feels a little stupid (and still very confused), but how was she supposed to know that Danvers and Supergirl were such good buddies that they…anonymously deliver each other candle holders in the middle of the day?

But Danvers goes on, reaching out to rest her fingertips lightly – reverently – on top of the candle holder.

“Tonight is the first night of Chanukah,” she says softly, looking down at the candle holder. “It’s…it’s a really big deal in my family. We don’t often get the chance to gather together, all of us. And for my sister…it’s complicated. She’s adopted and didn’t grow up Jewish, but she’s sort of adopted Chanukah as her way to celebrate where she came from merging with who she is now. It’s…” She swallows, rough and hard. “It’s a really big deal to us. And I’m missing it.”

Maggie feels like an entire turd. She’s an asshole for not knowing when Chanukah was, and not realizing Danvers was Jewish, and not recognizing the candle holder as one of those Jewish ones.

And it’s not like Maggie does Christmas with her family or anything, but she can still remember the pain of that first Christmas away from her parents’ house. Away from the tree and the decorating and the cookies and hanging the lights and midnight mass and opening presents in the morning. Everything had hurt, that first year, but Christmas had hurt more than most days.

She wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone.

She steps forward, careful to wipe any trace of anger or annoyance from her face. “Shit, Danvers. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was Chanukah. That really…that really sucks.”

Danvers lets out a big puff of air. “Yeah,” she says, and Maggie pretends she doesn’t notice how thick her voice has gotten. “It really does.”

Maggie strips off her gun and sits down at the edge of her bed. “Do you want to leave for a few hours? I can hold down the fort here without you. Seriously.”

But Danvers shakes her head. “This is the mission. I follow orders.”

“Our orders are bullshit.”

Danvers smiles a little bit at her, eyes glossy. “Yeah,” she admits. “They are.”

But then she turns back to the table, like the conversation is over.

Maggie picks up her phone, and texts her captain.

***********

Danvers’ batphone rings about two hours later. The sun is supposed to set at 5:37, Danvers had reported, so they were still just sitting there, glumly staring at the screens that tell them what they already know: Roulette is fucking gone. Out of the city, likely abroad, or, Danvers had terrifyingly said like it was actually possible, possibly off-world.

“Danvers.” Her voice is crisp and professional, and it’s only been two days but Maggie’d already forgotten what that sounds like. How annoying and hot it is at the same time.

She seems to be mostly listening. She makes a few surprised sounds, but doesn’t say anything that gives Maggie a real clue.

The call is short. She ends it with a, “Yes, sir, I understand. Thank you, sir.”

Maggie tilts her head, hoping she looks inviting. Danvers slides the phone down off her ear, her face beyond confused. “That was J’onn,” she says slowly, like she can’t believe it. “My director.” Maggie wants to hurry her along – she knows the name of Danvers’ fucking director, for god’s sake – but she tries to keep her face neutral. Her legs bounce under the table.

“They’re calling the mission a bust. We’re free to go. Immediately.” She blinks a few more times. “Other agents are en route to clear the room. We’re supposed to report to the DEO tomorrow morning at nine to debrief.”

She looks down at her hands, her eyes skimming over the candle holder quickly before jumping up to Maggie. “He said…he said I can go have Chanukah with my family.”

Maggie doesn’t try to hide her grin. “Happy Chanukah,” she says softly, but Danvers isn’t done.

She’s picking at one of her nails, and she looks nervous for the first time ever.

“He…he said your captain got in touch with him. That he said it was a holiday and we weren’t going to learn anything more in the next 36 hours. That we should be able to go.”

There’s a question in her voice, but Maggie doesn’t answer it.

Danvers is smiling a little bit, but she doesn’t push it. They both stand up and wordlessly start packing. They’ve both traveled light, and leaving all the equipment means they’re done in a matter of moments. Maggie tosses her duffle near the door, and does a final sweep for socks under the bed. All she finds are weapons.

She walks up to the door where Danvers is waiting.

“Well,” Maggie says lightly. “I can genuinely say I’m not going to miss this stupid room for one second.”

Danvers holds up an imaginary cup. “Cheers,” she says, something like a twinkle in her eye, and Maggie smiles as she clinks it with her own empty hand.

But then Danvers is reaching out and pulling Maggie into the most surprising hug of her life. Her body is warm and softer than Maggie expected – hard muscles loosening into a gentle softness that Maggie just wants to press into for hours. She smells good, which is unfair because they’ve been using the same shitty motel soap for five days and Maggie knows for a fact it smells like clinical nothing. Her arms are firm around Maggie, genuinely hugging her for a long moment.

“Thank you, Maggie,” she whispers into Maggie’s ear. “You have no idea. Thank you so much.”

They pull back enough and Maggie squeezes her forearms, sort of unwilling to let go. This Danvers is so different from the Agent Danvers she’d first met. This is Alex, she realizes, and Alex is beautiful and irreverent and loving and grateful and soft. Alex is gorgeous.

Maggie could really fall for Alex, even if she’s maybe a little bit genocidal.

Maggie tugs a little bit on Alex’s forearms, pulling her close enough to drop a tiny kiss on her cheek. “Happy Chanukah, Alex,” she whispers.

Alex flushes a spectacular pink.


	2. College AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a continuation of the previous chapter, I'm afraid, but please enjoy another Chanukah AU, @ironicpotential!

Last year this job was incredibly difficult. Maggie had been assigned to be the RA of a freshman floor, and, only a sophomore herself, had been completely unprepared for the onslaught of entitled, bratty, selfish behavior in her residents, and the completely bullshit complaints they brought to her. Her own freshman year she’d been grateful just to have a bed and room that belonged exactly as much to her as to her roommate. Plus, her roommate Liz had turned out to be kind of awesome, and they hadn’t had any real problems.

So she’d been completely unprepared for managing other freshman. She’d only taken the job for the free room and board, of course, and didn’t actually give much of a shit about it. She always likes succeeding and had tried her best, but had whined about it enough that this year she was assigned to a much easier floor.

She’s running an upperclassman floor this year – well, upperclasswomen, technically – and it’s so much better. Fewer roommate conflicts, people have generally gotten the gist about how to treat shared bathrooms, and most signed up to live with people who can handle how late they go to bed and how disgusting they are.

So when she walks into her floor’s lounge one night in early December, completing her duty round at 12:15am, and sees Alex Danvers curled up in an armchair quietly sobbing, she’s beyond surprised.

Alex Danvers has never been a problem. She’s a sophomore but is on track to finish early, probably a junior by credit now. She’s pre-med and a STEM major, Maggie remembers from her first week blitz of meeting people. Alex plays club soccer, which Maggie knows because she’s come to a couple games to support her old roommate, Liz. Alex tends to keep to herself, but she and her roommate Lucy don’t seem to have any problems. They eat meals together often, haven’t brought Maggie any complaints, and haven’t gotten in trouble with the Stanford PD, which is Maggie’s usual metric for “great resident.”

And Alex is, of course, objectively gorgeous: fit, beautiful, serious, snarky, and a little badass. If Maggie were the type to have crushes on younger girls – sophomores aren’t technically underclassmen but…they sort of are – she’d totally have a crush on Alex Danvers.

Alex uses this little floor lounge a lot in the wee hours. Maggie’s used to seeing her on rounds, studying deep into the night, kindly opting to be out here so Lucy can go to sleep at a reasonable hour. Maggie and Alex usually exchange a few friendly words, and sometimes Alex offers Maggie some of her “studying chocolate,” but she’s never seemed upset before. Maggie scrunches up her forehead, trying to remember if she’s ever seen Alex have _any_ emotions off the soccer field.

She doesn’t think so.

But tonight Alex is curled up in an armchair, sobbing into her hands.

Maggie stops short, clutching her duty clipboard with both hands. “Um, Alex? Are you okay?”

It’s a stupid question – _Alex Danvers_ is sobbing – but her surprise has made her stupid.

Alex’s head shoots up, and Maggie’s heart clenches. Her eyes are red and her face is pale and wet, and it’s clear she’s been crying for a while. She hastily wipes her face like she’s embarrassed and Maggie tries to give her best disarming smile.

“I’m fine,” Alex says hurriedly, but now the sleeves of her cardinal red Stanford sweatshirt are damp with her tears.

Maggie takes a step closer, perching her butt on the arm of a nearby chair, letting her clipboard rest casually on her thigh. “What’s wrong?”

Alex swipes at her face again, like if Maggie can’t see tears she’ll forget about it. “Nothing,” she says quickly. “It’s stupid.”

Maggie’s RA training was mostly about how to tell if someone has alcohol poisoning and what types of power strips are fire hazards, but she shakes her head anyway. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Alex doesn’t seem convinced and curls even tighter into herself.

Maggie wants to hug her. Maggie never wants to hug anyone. She resolutely tells herself that Alex is a sophomore, and probably straight, and Maggie is her RA and that’s complicated, and Maggie doesn’t date babies. She tells herself to go – Alex clearly doesn’t want to talk about it – but she can’t help it. The words just fall out.

“You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to, but I _am_ a professional listener and problem solver. You can tell cause they gave me a clipboard and everything.” She wiggles it in the air and Alex lets out a little choked laugh.

“That’s pretty official,” Alex mumbles, almost smiling, and Maggie lets herself topple backwards into the armchair, an expectant look on her face. She doesn’t say anything, letting Alex decide how to fill the silence.

It works like a charm.

“It’s stupid,” Alex says after a while, looking down at her sleeves instead of at Maggie. “It’s just…last year Chanukah was over winter break, so this is my first Chanukah away from home, and I didn’t realize that I don’t have any Jewish friends here, and everyone at Hillel is weird, and it just…sucks.”

Maggie tilts her head a little bit. She can’t say she has much experience with Jewish people or holidays. Blue Springs, Nebraska isn’t exactly known for its big Ashkenazi population. But she knows that the holidays move around a little bit in time, so it makes sense that Chanukah is at a different time this year than last year. She decides to go with a very safe response, hoping her ignorance won’t shine through. “That totally sucks.”

Alex swallows, her throat clearly a little gritty. “Yeah. And I…Lucy, my roommate, and her boyfriend, were going to celebrate with me. They’re goys, but I was going to teach them dreidel, but I just looked in every fucking store in this stupid town, and none of them are selling dreidels or gelt and it just…fucking sucks.”

Maggie blinks. That’s…a lot of words she doesn’t know. But Alex is blinking angrily and it’s clear she can’t just say _that sucks_ again, so she sucks in a breath and admits her ignorance. “I’m sorry, I don’t…I want to be with you here, but I grew up in rural, Catholic Nebraska. I have no idea what any of that is.”

But Alex just rolls her eyes. “Yeah,” she mutters, clearly pissed. “You and everyone else in this fucking town.”

“I’m sorry—” Maggie starts, but Alex is standing, gathering up her stuff.

“It’s fine, Maggie. I’m fine.” It’s a brush off, but Maggie doesn’t know how to push further without knowing what any of those words are.

She offers a feeble, “My door is always open, Danvers,” but Alex is already stalking down the hallway and she doesn’t turn around.

***********

When Maggie gets back to her room, she opens her laptop and, pushing her 8-10 page essay due tomorrow out of the way, starts googling. An hour later, she’s pissed. She can’t believe her training spent a full day on “what does pot smell like?” and no time on what important holiday celebrations are.

She’s learned that Chanukah started tonight at sundown, and that people celebrate by lighting candles, eating potato pancakes, and playing a game called dreidel, which seems to involve a spinning game piece and chocolate. If she’d known, she easily could have planned a program for the floor around it, and could have spent her programming budget on fake candles (they did spend two full training days on the fire hazards posed by unlit candles) and dreidels and chocolate coins. Instead she remained ignorant and now her prettiest resident feels alone and erased.

Maggie’s felt alone and erased and far from family enough in her life to be really fucking pissed at herself.

She sends an email to her criminology professor asking for an extension on her essay, and she gets to work.

***********

The next morning, each resident on her floor wakes up to see a handmade invitation that was slipped underneath their doors in the middle of the night. It’s a half-sheet of blue construction paper, with hastily cut-out white letters pasted on. “FOUNDERS HALL 4TH FLOOR CHANUKAH PARTY: TONIGHT AT 6PM IN THE LOUNGE. FOOD PROVIDED. COME CELEBRATE, PLAY GAMES, AND LEARN ABOUT CHANUKAH. ALL FAITHS WELCOME. PARTY PEOPLE ONLY.”

There’s a slightly slopping drawing of a menorah on one side and a dreidel on the other.

Maggie hasn’t slept in over 32 hours. She stayed up all night making the invitations and plans, and then skips morning classes to go shopping, borrowing Liz’s car to drive all around to buy the supplies she needs. Alex is right: Palo Alto is not catering to Jewish students at all. But she manages to find a few stores within a fifty mile radius selling what she needs, and she recklessly spends down her programming budget.

She gets back to campus around 3pm, and goes right to Liz’s off-campus apartment, using her oven to cook round after round of frozen latkes from Trader Joe’s. She’ll reheat them in the lounge microwave just before dinner, but her research said they’re supposed to be crispy, so she’s doing her best.

She gets to the lounge around 5 and starts decorating, hanging up blue and white streamers, and little signs she made that say _Happy Chanukah_ and _Don’t Be Gelty About Celebrating_ and _I Like You a Latke_ and _Happy Challah Days_ and _Love Laugh Latke_. She spools up the playlist she created, slightly deliriously, around 4am, and pours handfuls of gelt and other candies around on all the tables. The sour cream and applesauce are in coolers on the counter, and the jelly donuts are tucked into a corner.

Alex walks in, wide-eyed, with Lucy right behind her, at 6:07. “Holy shit,” she whispers, her eyes like saucers. “Maggie…this is…”

But Lucy interrupts, barking out a laugh. “It’s lit! Get it! Like a candle?”

Alex shoves her, but her eyes don’t leave Maggie’s. There’s something there, warm and affectionate and tender that Maggie’s never seen before.

Oops. Her crush opens the throttle.

Maggie snatches a little plastic dreidel, purple and cheap, off the closest table and tosses it to Alex. “Happy Chanukah, Danvers,” she says with a grin.

Alex propels herself forward, throwing her arms around Maggie and nearly crushing her in a hug.

***********

Only about ten people show up, so they all eat like queens. They feast on latkes and donuts and gelt and make fun of Maggie’s ridiculous klezmer playlist until they all can’t stand it anymore and Alex changes it to a playlist of 90’s throwbacks from her own phone. A little dude named Winn from the third floor shows up, nervously asking if he can join, and he and Alex – the only Jews there – explain the rules of dreidel to everyone.

They sit in a circle on the floor around the biggest table, gorging themselves and giggling at the game. Maggie pretends not to notice people sneaking off to take shots in their rooms every time they roll a gimel.

Alex, eyes glazed from the shots and latkes and chocolate, starts leaning into Maggie’s body, tilting just a bit on the floor. But of course, even verging from tipsy to drunk and full to bursting with grease, she smells amazing, and Maggie gives up and lets her crush overtake her.

The party winds down around 8:30, people slipping out to study or to try to stay awake long enough to go out. It’s Thirsty Thursday, after all.

Lucy skips out, going to meet up with her boyfriend James, leaving Alex and Maggie alone in the now deserted – and totally destroyed – lounge.

Alex is twisting her fingers together. “I can’t believe you did all that,” she says softly. “Were you…did you plan this before? Or just…after last night?”

Maggie swallows. They’re standing kind of close together, and Alex is really fucking hot. “I, um…just since last night. I felt really stupid, that I hadn’t thought to learn about it before. I wanted to make that up to you. And, I mean, to Winn. Obviously.”

Alex snorts, just like Maggie’d hoped. “I think he really appreciated it,” she says, and her voice is light but her eyes are serious.

Maggie tries to shrug it off, never good with accepting compliments. “I just…I know it’s not the same, but I…I haven’t been able to celebrate with my family in a long time, either. And I know how much it sucks. And, I mean, I know this wasn’t your family, and I’m sure I messed a lot of it up, but I just thought—”

Alex cuts her off, leaning in to kiss her, warm and sticky and sugary from the sufganiot.

Maggie’s eyes fly open. Alex pulls back a little, unsure, and Maggie can’t help but say it. “Oh, holy shit.”

Alex cocks her head a little. “Good holy shit or bad holy shit?”

Maggie reaches out, grasping tightly to her shirt. “Good holy shit. Very good. Best holy shit ever.”

Alex grins, something evil in her face, and Maggie faintly wonders what the hell she got herself into. “Well then,” Alex says, stepping in even closer. “It’s a Chanukah miracle.”

***********

Maggie gets in trouble with her Hall Director for leaving the lounge a huge mess overnight, and with her criminology professor for asking for an extension the night before the essay was due, and with the other RAs for not telling them about her program. But she wakes up next to Alex the next morning, and every morning after that until winter break, and it’s definitely worth it.


	3. Neighbors to Lovers AU

“Uh, fuck.” Alex checks her watch and looks in dismay at the tiny pile of shredded potatoes in front of her. She’s got her ski goggles from a few Halloweens ago on top of her head in preparation, but hasn’t managed to start on the onions yet. She _hates_ grating onions.

Stupid Kara is supposed to be here, with her superspeed and her invulnerability to onion juice and hands that can’t get hurt in the grater. Kara’s supposed to be in charge of latke prep, and then they’re supposed to fry them together later, when the other people come over.

But Kara’s not here, and Alex is starting to realize that she’s never going to make it.

People are supposed to be here in less than two hours, it’s just her and the ancient grater that she got when her great-aunt moved into assisted living, and there’s no way she’ll get it done on time.

She does the only thing she can do. She wipes her hands off on a dishtowel, pulls off her apron, and stalks out her front door into the hallway. She passes Old Bitch’s apartment, Three Yappies, and The Frat House, before she comes to a stop in front of the last door on her floor. She hasn’t officially given this one a name yet, but she knows what she calls it in her heart.

Pretty Cop. Or, sometimes, when she’s weak, Gorgeous Cop. It was Dimples with the Bitch Girlfriend, for a while, until it was Sad Dimples, and now it’s just back to Pretty Cop. Beautiful, Tiny, Nice, Pretty Cop with the Dimples and the Sweet Leather Jackets and Probably Also That Nice Bike Next to Mine in the Garage.

They’ve said hi passing on the stairs, and getting mail, and few times in the hallway when one is coming and the other going, but that’s about the extent of it. But it’s less than two hours until the party, and Alex has smelled pretty delicious things coming out of this apartment at dinnertime, so she’s got a shot.

She’s not wearing shoes, but she straightens up anyway, squaring her shoulders and knocking three times, sharp and quick.

There’s music coming from the other side of the door, and it isn’t long until it opens, and, oh. Pretty Cop is there, and she’s clearly been working out. There’s a yoga mat out on the floor, next to some free weights, and she’s not wearing a shirt over her black sports bra, and it’s…it’s a whole thing. Alex blinks a few times, completely unprepared for seeing Pretty Cop’s Pretty Abs.

“Nice goggles,” Pretty Cop says. Alex slaps a hand up to her head, closing her eyes in agony when she hits the ski goggles. Fucking, fuck.

Alex rips them off, tearing out a significant chunk of hair. “Nice shirt,” she snaps back, her embarrassment making her mean, but Pretty Cop just smiles, unbothered.

“Alex, right?” Her head is tilted a little, and Alex focuses on not calling her _pretty cop_ to her face.

“Yeah. Yeah. Alex. And um, sorry, I don’t…”

Pretty Cop grins. “Maggie.”

Alex nods, committing it to memory. Pretty Maggie.

“What can I do for you, Alex? Need some skiing tips?”

Alex is sure her face is as red as the jelly Winn will inevitably splat out onto her floor sometime later tonight. “Um, no, thank you.” She rolls her shoulders and wishes Pretty Maggie weren’t so pretty. Or were dressed. “I was wondering if you have a food processor I could borrow for the night.”

Maggie blinks, looking a little disappointed, which Alex can’t for the life of her figure out. “Oh. Um, yeah, I do. Somewhere.” She stands back, leaving space for Alex. “Come on in, let me try to find it.”

“Thank you,” Alex gushes, unable to keep the desperation from her voice. “Seriously.”

“Okay,” Maggie says, peering over her shoulder, her forehead scrunched up. “Usually I’m pretty good at solving mysteries, but this one has me stumped. What the heck is at the intersection of ski goggles and food processors?”

Alex laughs. Stupid gentiles. “I’m making latkes,” she says, mostly as a test.

Maggie doesn’t fail it like Alex expects her to. “Oh, duh,” she says. “Chanukah started a few nights ago, right?”

Okay, pretty, topless, and knows stuff about being Jewish? Completely and utterly unfair.

“Uh, yeah. And my sister and I always host this big party, but she’s in Metropolis this year with her stupid cousin, so I’m doing all the prep by myself.”

“Ah,” Maggie says, and Alex determinedly stares out the window, resolutely ignoring how Maggie’s bending over, her yoga pants tight over her lower body, as she pokes around her lower cabinets. “That blows.”

“Seriously blows,” Alex agrees. “And she’s the one who always insists on doing it all by hand, so now I have no sister and no food processor, and people will be here in less than two hours.” She’s verging on the edge of hysterical, which is stupid because it’s just a dumb Chanukah party for a bunch of goyim she sees all the time anyway, but she’s never done it without Kara before, and this is _their_ holiday, and Clark fucking sucks and doesn’t even consider himself space Jewish and it just, yeah. Blows.

“Yipes,” Maggie says, pulling out a step stool.

“Yeah. I had to work today, so it’s just a lot.”

Maggie’s climbing from the step stool right up onto her counter now, standing with her bare feet set on either side of her coffee machine. Alex moves forward before she can think, holding her hands up in a spotting position. “Please don’t die,” she says quickly. “It would really mess up my latke timeline.”

Maggie snorts, wavering just a bit, possibly just to get Alex to make a strangled noise.

Alex tries hard not to touch her butt, but resolves that she’ll do it if she has to in order to save Maggie from an untimely Chanukah death.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Alex,” she says from on top of the counter, and Alex is grateful that Maggie can’t see her blush. She knows it’s just an expression, but, still. When the pretty cop calls you pretty, and you’re a useless white girl still figuring some shit out, you’re going to be very embarrassingly blushy and obvious about it all.

“Ah,” Maggie says, up on tip toes now, which is frankly ridiculous. “Got it!” She pulls the bulky processor, clearly a relic of the 1970’s, off her top shelf, handing it off to Alex before hopping easily down to the floor.

“Oof.” It’s heavier than it looks, and Alex staggers for a second, surprised. “Wow, this is old school.”

Maggie grins. “Yeah, it was definitely a tag sale find a few years ago, but it works great.”

“This is amazing,” Alex says hurriedly, her hostess anxiety rising up again now that Maggie’s cute butt isn’t directly in her line of sight. “This is going to save the night, seriously. Thank you.”

“Well,” Maggie says, and she’s fucking winking, and, for the record, still not wearing a shirt, “Chanukah’s all about miracles, right?”

Alex grins back at her, trying not to trip over her own feet. “I’ll save you some, if you want,” she offers as she makes her way to the door. “As a proper thank you.”

“Well, actually,” Maggie’s voice is a little smaller, a little less confident. “Do you, uh, need any help? I’m off today, so I can come over and help out. The processor is a little finicky.”

Alex blinks dumbly, her mouth dry, the processor heavy in her arms. The image of Maggie in her apartment, her ample muscles flexing as she chops and presses potatoes down the processor, maybe dancing a little bit around her kitchen? Alex can barely think.

When she finally manages to speak, her voice comes out high and tight and very embarrassing. “Yeah,” she squeaks. “You might want a shirt though. For the, um. Grease splatters. You don’t want to burn your, um,” her fucking eyes flicker down, twice. “…self.”

Maggie snorts, and Alex hopes fervently to die.

“Good call,” Maggie says, graciously not calling Alex out for her pervy behavior. “I’ll grab one, and I’ll be right behind you.”

Alex nods, a little jerky, completely unable to handle herself. She shakily walks back to her apartment, dumping the processor on her counter and busying herself with tying her apron back on and running all the variable calculus equations she knows through her mind to try to get it fucking together.

Maggie sails in just a few minutes after Alex, now wearing a slightly ratty white NCPD tshirt with the sleeves rolled up in a particularly gay way. She’s still wearing the yoga pants and her feet are bare and she’s so fucking pretty that Alex wants to gouge her eyes out.

Maggie pads inside the apartment easily, like she’s been there a million times before. She walks right up to Alex, not stopping at a reasonable distance. She comes all the way up and then Alex holds her breath as Maggie slips up onto her tip toes and presses a quick kiss to her cheek.

Alex freezes.

She’s possibly dead.

No, certainly.

Definitely dead.

But then Maggie’s pulling back, grinning, and tugging on Alex’s apron. “Rules are rules,” she says cheekily, and it’s only then that Alex looks down and tries not to groan. She’s wearing Kara’s stupid apron, the one that says _Kiss the Chef_ on it.

Maggie didn’t mean it.

“Oh,” Alex says, her voice unfortunately a bit of a honk. “Ha. Haha. Right.”

But Maggie’s pursing her lips, and she’s usually quite good at solving mysteries.

“Ya know, I don’t have an apron,” she says slyly. “But you can just consider yourself invited to kiss me anyway.”

Alex drops a potato.

Maggie laughs, like maybe it was a joke, but Alex isn’t sure and it’s killing her.

They somehow get to work, plugging in the processor. Alex slices the potatoes into wedges, and Maggie processes them into perfect strips. They switch to the onions after a while, and Maggie runs back into her apartment to grab the ski goggles Alex had abandoned on her counter. She wears them herself, leaving Alex to weep all her eyeliner off, cackling kindly.

She looks really good in the goggles and it’s annoying.

Alex excuses herself to the bathroom and wipes her face, painfully reapplying eyeliner because she doesn’t know if Maggie meant it or not, but Alex would _really_ like to kiss her, and she thinks maybe the drowned panda look would be best saved for Christmas, or maybe Arbor Day.

Finally Alex gets out her huge mixing bowl, and they start combining all the ingredients, adding potato until it’s the perfect frying consistency. Alex checks her watch and sighs, finally relaxing. It’s fifteen minutes until people should start arriving. They did it.

“Thank you,” she gushes, swept away with gratitude and feelings. “Seriously, I never would have gotten it done without you. You’re a Chanukah miracle.”

Maggie smiles back at her, slipping the goggles off her head. “No problem, Alex. I had fun.”

“You should stay,” Alex hears herself offering. “Please! It’s really fun. And you deserve it, obviously.”

“Oh,” Maggie says, suddenly absorbed in picking a piece of potato off her shirt. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

But Alex shakes her head quickly, pulling off the apron and reaching out to clasp Maggie’s wrist. “I promise, you won’t be.”

Maggie gives a smile – a small, sort of tender smile, and Alex’s heart seems to have gone through a food processor. “Okay,” she says softly, something grateful and possibly hopeful in her voice. “I’d like that.”

*******

The party goes off without a hitch. J’onn comes, and Lucy, and James and Winn. Lena sails in a bit late with Sam and Ruby, followed by Nia and Brainy. Kara topples in at the last minute, cheeks bright from her last-minute flight from Metropolis, and she crushes Alex in a hug, apologizing for even considering missing the party for _that butthead_ and Alex squeezes her and isn’t even mad that she missed the prep. 

Alex introduces Maggie to everyone as the neighbor who saved Chanukah, and she’s accepted easily. Kara and J’onn fry the latkes, their invulnerable skin making them the obvious choices for the job. Nia’s all elbows, clearly anxious to impress Brainy, and she manages to spill her entire beer onto Maggie’s shirt. Nia quite nearly has a stroke from embarrassment, but Maggie just waves her off. She takes a step out of the circle, and simply pulls her shirt off, that fucking sports bra from earlier still on.

Alex can feel herself drooling.

Lucy nudges her in the side, hard. “Close your mouth, Michael,” she hisses. “We are not a codfish.”

Alex shoves her back, possibly too hard. She then reaches out, grabbing Maggie’s arm and pulling her into her walk-in closet. For an apartment without rooms, her closet is enormous, and has an actual door. She’s going to find a shirt for Maggie to wear, but Maggie’s looking up at her, teeth glinting in the dim light, looking remarkably predatory.

“Well,” she says, reaching out and tugging at the hem of Alex’s shirt. “If I’d known it would have this reaction, I’d have stripped down a long time ago.”

And Alex really means to tell her that she brought her here to get dressed, but that becomes less and less urgent as her mouth disappears under Maggie’s.

Maggie tastes like latkes and beer, sour cream and apple sauce and a hint of crisp.

Alex finds herself pressed up against her dresser, Maggie soft against her front, Maggie’s bare skin electric under her hands, her tongue softly exploring Maggie’s mouth.

“Happy fucking Chanukah,” Maggie whispers into her mouth. “Can we do this for all eight nights?”

Alex laughs. Maggie doesn’t have an apron on, but Alex kisses her anyway.

They do indeed kiss for all eight nights, and all eight mornings, and a few lucky afternoons.

Then it turns out they do it for a lot longer than eight nights.

Lucy is insufferable.


	4. Secret Santa AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a true pleasure to write these for @ironicpotential and all of you. Happy chanukah, happy holidays, happy new year y'all.
> 
> and please note that you're to go "no way, too unrealistic!" a bunch of times, but this Alex is based on a TRUE STORY and the more you don't believe it, the more likely it is to be true. we, as a culture, are a bunch of fucking disasters.

Alex flops into Kara’s dorm room, her hands over her face.

Kara and her roommates are used to this by now. It’s been literal months. Kara gets out the snacks, Lucy turns off the tv, and Lena closes her textbook.

“What happened, Alex?”

“Ugh,” Alex moans, still hiding behind her hands. She mumbles something that even Kara can’t make out.

“What was that, U.L.?” Lucy asks, a faux concerned look on her face.

Alex throws a pillow at Lucy. “Don’t call me that.”

But Lucy’s just smirking. “Why not? Are you about to share a story with us that will demonstrate that you aren’t, in fact, a _useless lesbian_? Cause your red face is begging to differ.”

Alex grumbles something about “chaotic bisexuals shouldn’t cast the first stone,” but everyone notices that she doesn’t actually dispute the label.

“What happened, Alex?” Kara asks, trying to sound supportive. “Was it Maggie?”

“Of course it was Maggie,” Lena whispers to Lucy.

Alex nods softly, chewing on the string of her hoodie. “We were in lab, and we were talking about blood types, and she looked right at me and said I was her type!”

Kara and Lucy shout with excitement, but Lena’s learned over the literal months to be measured. “What did you do?”

Alex groans, and Kara’s jaw drops. “Alex! No!”

But Alex nods miserably. “Alex, yes,” she moans. “I just awkwardly laughed and dropped a beaker and then changed the subject to historical methods of capital punishment.”

Kara drops her head into her hands. “You’re literally killing me, Alex.”

Lena nods wisely. “You’re a fucking idiot, Danvers.”

Lucy blinks. “You’re the most useless lesbian I’ve ever met in my entire life,” she states calmly. “You’re literally going to get two doctorates and you’re still the dumbest bitch in the history of existence. Maggie Sawyer is coming onto you like every fucking day, and you’re supremely gay for her, and you’re just…god.” She shoves a pretzel in her mouth like it’s personally affronted her. “Fucking _useless_.”

And Alex can’t even protest.

* * *

All the club teams are doing a Secret Santa to try to build relationships across the different sports. Alex and Lucy are both on the soccer team, so they’re in the pool. Kara isn’t allowed to play sports and Lena had given up fencing after her first semester to focus on engineering, so neither of them are in it.

Maggie, of course, is the captain of club softball, so she’s in it too.

They’re emailed a random Secret Santa assignment. The rules are that they can give their presents at any time, but they have to be done giving by the day before finals starts. All gifts must be given anonymously, and the Santa identities will be revealed by email on the last day.

Alex gets some dude from the tennis team that she’s never met. She texts a girl she knows on the women’s team for info, who immediately responds with his favorite drink. Alex finds a bottle on amazon that’s probably more than he usually spends for himself, orders it, and considers herself done after 1.5 minutes of clicks.

Successful Secret Santa.

* * *

Alex opens her locker at the gym, and immediately sees a ziplock that she doesn’t recognize. She grabs it, worried it’s someone else’s drugs, but it’s a small blue candle. Like for a birthday cake. There’s also a note inside the bag. Alex pulls it out, confused.

_Because you’re strong_ , the note says. _And I’d never say this to your face, but you could totally kick my ass_.  
_-Your Very Secret Santa_

Alex feels her eyebrows pulling together. A candle? One birthday candle? Her birthday was a few months ago.

She blinks a few times. The note is…nice? Depends on who it’s from, probably.

Lucy calls to her from across the locker room, telling her to “Hurry your useless ass up, U.L.” Alex carefully puts the note back inside the ziplock and puts the whole thing inside her shoe as she quickly changes into her soccer uniform and cleats.

She’ll try to figure it out later.

* * *

She finds the second candle on her lab bench two days later, which is extremely stalkerish. It’s in a ziplock again, with another note. This one says:

_Because you’re brilliant. There isn’t a problem you can’t solve, and that’s legit hot.  
__-Your Super Secret Santa_.

Okay, so this is like, some dude from club lacrosse using Secret Santa to hit on her? Or maybe…maybe a girl from club volleyball? That would be better, although both are not very good.

Alex still doesn’t get the birthday candles, but she dutifully stows the entire bag in her backpack, careful not to snap the little green candle.

She checks in with Kara that night, pulling her aside where her roommates can’t hear. She shows her note. “It says _super_ secret santa,” she hisses. “I know you fancy yourself a superhero like _he_ is. But it’s not…these aren’t from you, are they? Or like, from someone you’ve told?”

But Kara just wrinkles up her nose in disgust. “Ew, Alex, it says you’re hot. Like, you’re pretty and everything, but, ew. No. ew. And I haven’t told anyone, or used my powers at all. I promise.”

Alex rolls her eyes and pretends to shove her. She knew it wasn’t Kara, and she’d hoped that Kara hadn’t been telling people, but still. Always better safe than sorry.

* * *

The next is delivered to her in the dining hall by some kid who doesn’t know who it came from. A pink candle, this time.

_Because I know you’re the one who keeps setting off the fire alarm making popcorn. Don’t worry though, I can cook for both of us. Maybe even for a date.  
_ _-Your Special Secret Santa_

* * *

The fourth, yellow, is waiting for her on her desk in her genetics lecture.

_Because you can unzip my genes anytime. Consent is sexy, and so are your biceps when you’re lugging this enormous textbook around.  
_ _-Your Stunning Secret Santa._

* * *

Alex brings this one, like to rest, to Kara’s room for debrief. Lucy is convinced the notes are from Maggie, which is beyond ridiculous. Lena’s trying to advance a theory that it isn’t even related to the club sports Secret Santa, and Kara just keeps surreptitiously using her xray vision in case there are any clues hidden inside the candles.

But today Alex is biting her lip a little. “Kara,” she says, tilting her head a bit, “Do you think they could be Chanukah candles?”

Kara immediately bounces to her feet, bounding over to look at the collection of candles on her desk. “Oh my god, of course!”

Lena narrows her eyes. “That would mean there need to be four more.”

“Five more,” the Danvers sisters say at the same time. Kara hurriedly explains. “There are eight candles, one for each night, but then a ninth that you use the light the others, called the shamesh.”

“Technically, there should be 44,” Alex says absently. “For all the nights total.”

“Okay, let’s all just pray your Secret Santa isn’t that thorough,” Lucy snorts. “Or you’ll be finding these notes until spring.”

“Well,” Kara says, adjusting her glasses. “At least we know the person is Jewish.”

Lena balks. “Wait, anyone could send this, as long as they know Alex is Jewish.”

But Alex and Kara both shake their heads. “Non-Jews never remember to think about Chanukah,” Alex says grumpily, and Kara nods fervently.

“Sad but true.”

* * *

Alex gets a text while she’s studying at the library. It’s from Kara, and it’s a picture of a new bag holding a purple candle.

“Found this taped to my door,” Kara’s text says. “Creepy!”

She sends a picture of the note, too.

_Because you always look out for your sister. You’re one of the most caring people I’ve ever met, even if you like to pretend that you hate everyone.  
_ _-Your Spectacular Secret Santa_

Alex blushes a deep, dark, red, and can’t concentrate for the rest of the night.

Who could this possibly be? Who is Jewish, and knows all these things about her? She keeps her soccer life and her lab life and her life with Kara pretty separate, but this person knows about all of them.

Her Secret Santa is pretty spectacular indeed.

* * *

She has lab with Maggie the next day. Maggie gives her a big hug hello, like always, and Alex goes into cardiac arrest, like always.

_Get it together, you useless fucking lesbian_ , she admonishes herself, like always, but it never works.

“So Danvers,” Maggie says absently, concentrating on her pipettes. “Made any contact with your Secret Santa yet?”

A sliver of hope surges up in Alex, cutting off her oxygen supply for a few vital seconds. “Uh, I mean, I’ve bought what I’m giving my person, but I haven’t given it yet.”

Maggie hums a little. “Has yours given you anything yet?”

Alex scratches the back of her neck a little bit. Maggie isn’t possibly her Santa, but Alex likes her so much that it makes her leak brain fluid out of her ears. “Um. Yeah, actually. They’ve…they’ve been leaving me little presents all week.”

Maggie looks incredibly surprised, which is horrible, because it means they aren’t from her. Alex wants to brain herself with the heaviest piece of equipment she can reach. Stupid useless lesbian, getting her dumb hopes up. “Wow,” Maggie says calmly. “That’s awesome. Good presents?”

Alex isn’t sure if they’re good, now that they’re not from Maggie. “Uh, yeah,” she stutters. “A little creepy at first, but, yeah. They’re good. I like them.”

And then Maggie does that stupid thing she always does, where she looks directly into Alex’s eyes, and holds her hand, and stares at her like she matters more than anything in the world. “Good. You deserve the best presents.”

Alex should say _you do too_ , or she should lean forward and kiss Maggie for about two semesters, but instead she just catapults herself forward, hugs Maggie for about 0.7 seconds, and then hurries out of the room, yelling something about the bathroom.

She can hear Lucy’s voice in her head as she pees. _Hey look! It’s the dumbest bitch who ever lived!_

* * *

The sixth candle, a beautiful blood red, shows up _inside_ her backpack.

At this point, Alex is just resigned to how creepy it is, and finds herself entirely impressed.

_Because you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. I’d love to take some of that burden from you. We could share it, and support each other. Although, of course, it’s made your deltoids truly gorgeous.  
_ _-Your Sweet Secret Santa_

Alex blinks back tears, hating how well this person knows her. Who the hell is it??

* * *

The next night, Kara’s hosting a game night in her floor’s common room. She checked out a bunch of games from the RA, and they’re just opening Catchphrase when Kara gasps a little bit. She reaches into the box and, totally bemused, pulls out a ziplock and holds it up to Alex. “Whoever this is, they’re _good_.”

The candle is white.

_Because you’re a nerd in so many different ways, but so am I. I hereby challenge you to a game of scrabble. If I win, I hope you’ll let me kiss you. Well, actually, no matter what, I hope you’ll let me kiss you.  
_ _-Your Scrabble-Loving Secret Santa  
_ _p.s. Squeeze, 75 points AND a description of what I’d like to do to you. BOOM._

Alex snorts, and Lena quickly does the math to double check the score. “She’s right,” she mutters, and Alex doesn’t bother to argue with the pronoun. She’s been out since freshman year, so she’s just praying some dumb boyjock isn’t stupid enough to be going to these lengths to try to get with her.

* * *

Alex and Maggie study together for a quiz until two in the morning. Maggie insists on walking Alex back to her dorm, even though Maggie’s dorm is closer and Alex is taller and better trained in self-defense.

At the front door of Alex’s hall, Maggie tips in for a hug, like always. Alex squeezes her as tightly as she dares, arms slipping underneath her backpack. Maggie doesn’t let go but tilts up, leaving a long, slow kiss on Alex’s cheek.

“Goodnight, my love,” Maggie says quietly as she pulls away, and Alex just stands there for actual minutes.

She is, quite possibly, too gay for this.

She’s wanted Maggie since the first day of freshman orientation two and a half years ago, but she’s never been sure that Maggie’s wanted her back. Even with the hand holding and hugs and looks and everything, and even though Lucy, Lena, and Kara scream about it all the time, there’s always some part of Alex that’s been terrified of how strong her feelings are. Of losing their friendship. Of being rejected.

She’s gotten used to Maggie’s affection, to her attention. But this…Maggie’s never called her _love_ before. Never kissed her cheek before. Or, well, not sober, anyway.

Maybe…maybe she should really start working on becoming less useless.

* * *

Alex opens her glasses case to pull out her glasses for lecture, and there’s a ziplock with an orange candle inside. It’s the eighth. Alex wonders if this is the last, or if the person will know that there’s supposed to be a ninth. If it’s actually for Chanukah, of course.

But this kind of feels like the last one, because the note seems different, and today is the deadline for gift-giving. Alex dropped off the bottle of whiskey she’d bought at the tennis guy’s dorm earlier this morning, feeling like the worst Secret Santa in the world after the treatment she’s been getting.

_Because I wish you could see what’s right in front you. I wish you could see how I feel about you. I wish I could see how you feel about me. If, just maybe, you want me too. Whatever happens, know that I mean this, Alex. I see you, and I want to be with you. For real.  
_ _-Your Serious Secret Santa_

Alex doesn’t manage to take a single note in lecture.

* * *

Secret Santa’s are being revealed at 8pm by email. Alex has soccer practice from six until nine, but she’s hoping to check her phone during a water break, because it’s killing her to not know.

But at eight exactly, just when she’s considering faking a cramp to get a break, there’s a small commotion at the end of the field. Lucy pulls Alex with her as she jogs up the field to investigate, even though Alex would rather dash off to her bag to check her email.

The clump of players around the commotion peel away, and Alex’s heart stops in her chest. She really should have paid attention to where the closest emergency defibrillator is.

Because it’s Maggie standing there, steady and solid and very tiny on the soccer field, the bright field lights shining down on her hair. Maggie’s standing there, and in her hands is a small little ziplock.

In the ziplock is a candle.

The candle is white at the bottom and blue at the top, like the Chanukah candles Alex’s mom always buys.

Alex can’t breathe.

Maggie had looked so surprised in lab. Alex had been sure it couldn’t be her, but…

It’s her?

Lucy shoves Alex, sharp and hard, from behind. “Stop being useless,” she hisses.

Alex trips forward, nearly falling into Maggie.

Maggie looks more nervous than Alex has ever seen her. “Happy Chanukah, Alex,” she says quietly, holding out the ziplock.

The notes flash through Alex’s mind. _You’re legit hot. You can unzip my genes anytime. You’re sexy. You’re one of the most caring people I’ve ever met. You carry the weight of the world. I hope you’ll let me kiss you._

_I wish you could see what’s right in front of you._

_I want to be with you. For real._

For the first time in her life, for the first time since she’d seen Maggie’s dimples, back on that sweaty August day, and had felt like she was going to throw up…for the first time since then, Alex feels steady. Strong. Capable and confident.

She reaches out and takes the ziplock from Maggie, careful to make sure their fingers touch. “You knew about the ninth candle,” she says softly.

Maggie presses her lips together a little bit, like she’s still terrified. Like Alex hasn’t been in love with her for years. “I know about everything,” she whispers.

And Alex doesn’t need another shove from Lucy, or a shout from Kara, or an eyeroll from Lena.

Alex moves quickly, carefully dropping the ziplock into Lucy’s hands before taking one quick step in.

She reaches out, and for the first time in her life, pulls Maggie into a kiss.

Maggie makes a little surprised sound into her mouth, and Alex can faintly hear Lucy and the rest of her teammates screaming behind her.

But Maggie is pulling Alex tightly into her body, and Alex is letting herself melt into Maggie like she’s made of candle wax. Maggie kisses Alex like she sees her. Like she knows her. Like she’s wanted her for years.

* * *

Luckily, Alex’s mom sends them a Chanukah care package that includes a box of candles, and Maggie turns red and laughs hysterically that she hadn’t realized you need more than nine candles total. She joins them for the lighting each night, of course, even though it’s finals and she’s stressed.

She’s supposed to stay on campus for break, but Alex drags her to Midvale instead.

Maggie does in fact decimate all of them at scrabble, and knows to pack Alex’s glasses when they’re going to the movies. She squeezes Alex tightly to her on the couch, and kisses each muscle in her arms and shoulders when they’re alone.

Alex is, it turns out, even more of a useless lesbian than she thought.

Kara sends text updates to Lucy and Lena, who quickly create a group chat including Maggie simply for the purpose of mocking how dumb Alex had been.

Alex ends up stealing Maggie’s phone after one particularly embarrassing text.

“No, Alex,” Maggie howls, trying to get her phone back but also doubled over with laughter. “Give it back! I need to learn more about how you thought ‘I was just bad at horror movies,’ when I asked you to spend the night in my bed after we watched _Hocus Pocus_.”

But, luckily, unlike with any of the rest of the goons, Alex has a foolproof method for shutting Maggie up. Her shirt falls to the floor, and if Maggie’s still laughing at the nickname “U.L.” as she kisses her way across Alex’s abs, well. There are worse ways for Secret Santa to end.


End file.
